Aero
the dark wood surrounding me threatening titillating thoughts of death and dying.
A coffin encapsulating the death of free will and voluntary thoughts. Oddly fitting.
I know the plan now. After leaving Briony’s in the early hours of the morning, I made my way to the nightclub to visit Nox and see if any new information had slipped through the cracks while rich men got drunk and discussed topics of conversation meant to stay behind closed doors.
These idiots have no idea that some women who work for Nox, the ones they look at as useless objects, are basically paid informants for him. They thrive in the land of gossip. The only issue is a few of them have conspired with the wealthy scum of this town, enjoying the perks of a few thousand dollars to keep their deepest, darkest secrets locked away.
Weeding them out has been fun for Nox. The man is demanding and ruthless when it comes to any of his employees getting money from outside sources. He finds his own creative ways to make them pay their debts, letting me watch for my enjoyment.
Lucky for me, all it took was one blowjob for the treasurer of The Covenant Academy to let loose lips fly.
After releasing all over Nox’s unofficial informant’s face, he revealed that Callum Westwood was tired of waiting on Alastor Abbott’s secret weapon to take care of business. The church was also getting restless, especially after all the controversy surrounding Briony and her scandalous ways. She was dragging the wholesome Saint, the chosen one, the future of this parish, down with her. Just as I intended.
Which made releasing that video to social media a simple decision for me, and even more essential for her freedom. Unfortunately, the video wasn’t enough to destroy Saint’s reputation. The vixen who tried to sway the future bishop of The Covenant away from Christ would need to pay for her offenses. The Devil’s Doll herself.
When men are backed into a corner, they’re forced to fight. Callum is in his corner at the moment, restless and weary, the truth of his past decisions on the verge of release. The pressure on his castle was building to the point of combustion, and knowing a war was upon me was better than wondering when or where he’d strike next.
I pushed him into this, and Alastor’s paranoia over the missing documents from his safe was the tipping point. Secrets that hold this institution together are on the precipice of collapse. The oligarchy, bound to fold. The martyrs of morality, on the verge of the ultimate exposure.
Voices carry into the church, their tone echoing into the soaring vaulted ceilings above, where the angels with blacked-out eyes still hover, courtesy of yours truly.
“No, not now,” I hear the deacon say. “Get to class. Confessions will continue tomorrow.”
The footsteps continue approaching when I hear her ask, “Where’s Bishop Caldwell?”
Inquisitive one, she is, knowing how wrong this is of the deacon.
“He’s assisting the children of God, Briony.”
The large, heavy doors to the church slam shut once more, leaving an eerie echo in the massive cathedral, and I’m all too aware of the set-up upon her.
“If this is about the video, then Saint should be here as well,” Briony declares, but the footsteps only continue nearing the tight box I’m being held in.
The brass handle of the wooden door next to mine opens as the deacon enters the small cubical to my left.
“Only the bishop can perform this sacrament,” she continues, trying to gain his attention, but he’s not listening. He’s already inside.
C’mon Briony. Confess your sins as I requested.
“Now,” he commands from the other side of the booth.
There’s hesitation in her silence. She knows this isn’t right. She’s aware of danger looming, and yet something in her mind tells her to intuitively trust.
Not the deacon.
But me.
She finally opens the creaky wooden door to the darkened space, slowly closing it behind her before going to sit on the bench beneath me.
She lands on my lap, and before she can make a sound, I wrap my hand over her mouth. She jumps in surprise, but my other arm immediately pulls her body tightly into mine.
“Shh,” I whisper in her ear.
She panics, and her muscles tense beneath her white uniform shirt as she struggles to get out of my grasp.
I can’t control the grind of my hips up into her; my cock already bricking up at the reminder of the sins we shared last night.
My little doll was such an eager little slut for me. I wasn’t expecting it, but the way she bloomed made me wonder just how long this poor woman was holding back from being her true self and seeking that pleasure she’s entitled.
If there truly is a heaven as she believes, it was nothing like what we experienced in that house. Hell is the only place suitable for the kinds of fire we evoked.
I lick the side of her neck, surely spreading the black paint from my face along her light skin. She shudders, leaning back into my chest, her breaths finally calming as her hands slowly slide down my thighs surrounding her, orienting herself in the darkness.
We’ve become familiar with one another in the shadows. She knows my smell, just as I have learned hers.
“Begin,” the deacon states in an authoritative tone.
My hand slowly travels down her lips, uncovering her mouth, rolling over her chin. My fingers follow the edge of her jaw until I’m met with her neck. Sliding my palm down further, I wrap my grasp in a hold around her neck while my other hand finds its way down her abdomen to the edge of her skirt.
Without hesitation, I flip the front of the skirt up and roughly grip the pussy that belongs to me, pulling her little body even tighter to the front of mine.
She bought more underwear. My back teeth grind together as I envision my knife shredding the material into strips again.
I nod my head against hers to urge her to answer the deacon as her nervous hands grip the dark jeans covering my knees beneath her.
“B-bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” she begins, her voice shaky with the weight of her anxiousness. “It’s been a week since my last confession.”
“And a lot has happened in that week, hasn’t it?” the deacon asks, his tone demeaning. “Confess your sins, Briony. Tell God in his own house what you’ve done.”
“I…” She hesitates, swallowing her nerves. I lick the back of her neck again, nudging her head with my nose. “I’ve been having impure thoughts again.”
My lips pull to a grin behind her, applying pressure from my middle finger against her clit. A breathy moan leaves her throat and I feel for the wet spot I know is forming on her panties. Her hips wiggle as she tries to back away from the hand, but it only pushes her back into my dick again as it settles between the crack of her round ass.
If she doesn’t quit, I’m going to need to fuck her. I don’t give a fuck where we are. My cock will find its home, back inside her.
“Tell me of these impure thoughts,” the deacon says.
“Umm.” She sighs against me as I peel the underwear to the side. I run my finger along her slit before slipping it inside her, finding her soaking wet as I’d assumed. She shakes her head, fighting the feeling, but it’s too late. The velvety walls of her cunt clamp down on my finger and her head drops back against my chest and she shudders. “I…I’ve been thinking of sex again. P-pre-marital sex.”
“I knew as much,” he answers in disgust. “Have you been engaging with yourself to these impure and sinful thoughts? Using foreign objects? Your hands? How have you deceived your Lord and Savior?”
I pull my finger from her tight wet hole, bringing it to her mouth. She parts her lips, allowing the finger to press against her tongue. Her mouth wraps around it, sucking it clean like a good girl, and my patience is tested.
“Yes,” she hums around it.
“Which part?” he asks. “You need to express your transgressions for them to be forgiven.”
Sick and twisted fuck wants to jack off to her confession while I fuck her to it.
“There’s this man I’ve been fantasizing about,” she admits, and I’m all ears.
It better be yours truly, Briony.
“He was a fellow student of mine. My age. My grade. I work alongside him now.”
My grip on her neck tightens.
“Saint Westwood?” he asks, clarifying.
Only when I realize she can’t breathe to answer do I let up some. She gasps, coughing to regain her breath.
“Yes,” she says breathlessly. “Saint.”
My blood boils. Rage and the need to claim has me pushing her forward, unbuttoning my pants and pulling them down to expose the dick that will make her forget his name entirely.
“What thoughts have plagued your mind regarding him?” he asks.
I pull her back to my lap and roll the skirt up her lower back. Ripping the underwear to the side, I grip the base of my cock and force her to sit back on the head of it. I don’t make it easy on her. I thrust myself up into her, sliding into her tight hole while pulling her hips down onto my lap, using only the wetness she’s providing as I push her down, stretching her wet cunt around my dick.
I want her to hurt for what she admitted.
She cries out, the pain and pleasure rippling through her tight little body. The thought of her eyes watering and her pretty girl makeup smearing down her cheeks at the pain has my balls tightening and my cock twitching within her walls in delight.
“Confess to your God, Briony. What have you done?”
I bite down on her shoulder, pressing my teeth roughly into her flesh, holding her still on my lap, not allowing her the satisfaction of getting off or deriving any pleasure from this, but solely forcing her to remain open for me. My cunt.
“I… uh.” She moans softly. “I’ve felt him, over his pants. His…his penis. I’ve thought of his hands scouring my body. Touching my breasts. Toying with my nipples. It made me…” she stalls, clearly having a hard time continuing while being stuffed so full of cock.
I fucking love it. Confessing sins while committing them.
“Made you what?” he asks.
“Made me wet,” she answers, her words rushed.
I hear what sounds like a belt dropping to the floor in the booth beside us.
“Continue,” the deacon demands, his voice heard through the darkened window.
Briony uses her legs to lift her hips off me, but I claw my fingers into the flesh of them, pinning her back tightly to me. Her pussy clamps down around my cock again, and I bite back a groan.
“I’ve used household items…phallic in shape…” she whispers.
He quickly masks a light grunt with a clearing of his throat. Sick bastard.
“I’ve imagined it was him…penetrating me.”
Anger overtakes me at the idea of her deriving pleasure from thoughts of him. My hand finds the hair just above her nape, fisting and pulling it back until she’s facing the ceiling of the tiny chamber. She tries to stand again, but I pull the hair back tighter, using my other hand to press down on her bladder, leaving her defenseless against the sensation.
Another whiny moan leaves her, but lucky for us, it sounds like she’s crying over the release of her confessions, the purging of her sins.
“Whores like you can’t get through the day without needing to shove something into your disgustingly greedy cunt.”
The second the words fall from his mouth, I straighten beneath her, knowing what’s about to happen.
This is what I’ve planned for, and now my little doll will realize, everything I do for her has its purpose. She does not know the depth of my obsession, how deep my loyalty to her lies. We are one and the same.
The scarlet curtain pulls back, the windowed grille between us breaking into pieces, and the next thing I see is the silencer entering the chamber.
